Stark Men are made of Iron
by Airbrushed
Summary: The shield sits on top of the shelf behind his desk, staring at him, reminding him of happier times that he'll probably never have again. The Avengers- it was good while it lasted, short as it was. But then again, maybe he never really had the Avengers.
1. Chapter 1: Tony

**Hello~ So, if you read my other stories you've probably noticed a lack of updates. First reason, I finally saved enough money to build myself a computer that doesn't sound like it's ready to explode when I have Spotify and a word document open at the same time. So yay! Second reason, I've been going through some serious writer's block in terms of where to go next with Loki Returns. I am Iron Man, not gonna lie, just been lazy. I have things written but it's not ready to be posted. Not to mention I don't have Microsoft word yet, just Word pad and it's a bit annoying.**

 **So while I figure out how to end my other story, and to give myself an excuse for procrastinating with the other, I started a new fic! Exciting, I know. I have like, 1/4 of a plan for this one, but I promise it'll be good. I hope.**

 **I just really wanted to start a Civil War fic, because I love Tony and Steve and I have a lot of** ** _feelings_** **about this movie. I won't be bashing Steve, I won't be bashing Tony, but there will be feelings and accusations from the current character's POV, towards others. If that makes sense. SORRY THIS IS LONG, also at times I might be a bit bias towards Tony but I can't help myself so sorry not sorry at all.**

 _Tony,_

 _I'm glad you're back at the compound, I don't like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself. We all need family. The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine. I've been on my own since I was 18. I never really fit in anywhere – even in the Army. My faith is in people, I guess. Individuals. And I'm happy to say, for the most part, they haven't let me down. Which is why I can't let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but – maybe they shouldn't. I know I hurt you, Tony. I guess I thought – by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but… I can see now I was really sparing myself. I'm sorry. Hopefully one day you can understand. I wish we agreed on the Accords, I really do. I know you were only doing what you believe in, and that's all any of us can do, it's all any of us should. So no matter what, I promise if you — if you need us. If you need me, I'll be there._

 _Steve_

He had only read it once, but it was enough to burn the words into the back of his mind. It's one of the downsides of being a genius with a photographic memory; there are certain things he'd rather not remember.

He doesn't want to be reminded of the way Steve had looked at him, right before he slammed the shield into his arc reactor; doesn't want to remember the raw fear he had felt in that moment.

He had never dealt well with fear. He wasn't afraid of much when he was younger, and the things he had been afraid of only proved to earn him a reminder from his father that _'Stark men are made of iron- Steve Rogers wouldn't have been afraid of the_ dark, _boy, so why should you?'_

His mother had told him it was okay to be afraid, and Jarvis assured him the same, but he could only ever recall shaking his head 'no,' and repeating those damn words.

 _'Stark men are made of Iron.'_

He always assumed it had worked, repeating the same mantra in his head until he no longer saw a reason to fear. But there had always been one thing he couldn't shake.

He was afraid of not living up to his father's expectations- of not living up to the great Captain America.

And isn't it funny? How his greatest fear had been truly realized when the man himself had been looming over him, bringing his shield down for what Tony thought would surely be the killing blow.

That wasn't even the worst part- no, the worst part was that he had welcomed it. Sure, he had covered his face- it's a natural instinct, like reaching out with your hands when you fall- but thinking back to that moment, he realizes now how ready he was to die.

He's tired. He's been tired for a very long time, maybe as far back as Afghanistan. But New York was the big wake up call- the realization that there are, in fact, aliens- thousands of them- and even more than that who want to kill them. Not only are there aliens, but now there are strange supervillains, constant threats and kids with powers who are too damn _young_ to have that kind of pressure weighing them down.

He's tired, and he's afraid- things his father had never wanted him to be.

Not only had he shown fear, but he had shown weakness. And maybe that's why he was still here, now, sitting alone at his desk in the empty Avengers compound at 3 AM, staring at an unopened bottle of scotch and the offensively old cell phone beside it. Maybe that's why he had forced himself to stand once Steve- _no, Rogers_ \- and Barnes had left. He had forced himself to stand and grab the shield, to send a distress call to Vision and Rhodey.

A large part of him hadn't wanted to. He considered just lying there in the freezing cold, waiting for hypothermia to take him, and if not that, then soon enough dehydration and hunger would have done the trick.

But he had gotten up despite all of that, because if he had allowed himself to die there, he might have had to face the disappointed glare of his father, the worried frown of his mother, and he just couldn't bare it.

He was never one to believe in a heaven or a hell- though surely if he were going anywhere after death it would be the latter- but he hadn't believed in Gods, either, and well... look how that turned out.

He sighed, running his shaking fingers through his hair and down his face. It had only been two days since Siberia, but he hadn't slept since. He's been too busy helping Rhodey through physiotherapy, tweaking the designs for his leg braces, and ignoring angry calls from Secretary Ross about the raft break out. Not to mention that he's been left to deal with the fallout of their little 'Civil War,' so he's sure he'll be hearing more about that very, very soon. For the time being, however, he just needs some time alone- not that achieving isolation should be particularly difficult these days.

He's been trying his damn hardest not to stare at his desk drawer, where the letter sat, soon to collect dust. He took the phone out earlier when he had grabbed the sealed bottle of scotch. He doesn't know why exactly- maybe it was to keep him from breaking the seal on the alcohol- would give Howard and Rogers one less thing to be disappointed in him about.

He's not weak- he isn't- and he won't open that damn bottle.

But it's tempting.

He wants to feel the burn as the liquid slides down his throat; wants to feel his mind go numb, even for just a while, so that he doesn't have to remember Steve and that damn letter. He doesn't want to remember the feelings of betrayal and think about how alone he truly is- always has been.

He can't look at it anymore, so he turns his chair, only to be faced with another offending object.

The shield sits on top of the shelf behind his desk, staring at him, reminding him of happier times that he'll probably never have again. The Avengers- it was good while it lasted, short as it was.

But then again, maybe he never really had the Avengers. Natasha hadn't wanted him on the team in the first place, and while he thought they had moved past that, maybe he was wrong. He was their tech guy, the guy who fed them and gave them a home, did his best to keep them safe. Hell, he had put himself in harm's way more times than he can count (well, maybe not count, because of course he could count it). He still would in a heartbeat, no hesitation. But now that he's thinking about it, he's not sure the feeling was ever truly mutual.

He had given _everything_ for them, even Pepper- _no, god no he's not going to think about Pepper_ \- and yet still, in the end, he's alone.

He's always been on his own, but that's nothing new to him. So _why_ is he so damn _angry?_

He feels his eyes start to water, but all it does is fuel the fire already bubbling up inside him, begging to be let out. He turns back around, grabbing the bottle of scotch and throwing it at the wall. It shatters with a horrible crash, liquid and glass falling to the floor like rain.

He stares at the remains for a moment before leaning his elbows on the desk, burying his face in his hands. Through the spaces between his fingers, he can see the ancient phone mocking him, silently begging him to pick it up. He's about to grab it and lob it at the wall too, but he stops short when there's a gentle knocking at his door.

He quickly grabs the phone, but instead of throwing it he tosses it into the desk drawer alongside the letter.

"Yep," he says, and the visitor opens the door, rolling inside in a wheelchair.

"Tones?" Rhodey says as he makes his way inside, fumbling a bit with getting the door closed, but he manages all the same. Tony could have got up helped him, but he knows his friend would have pushed him away, insisting that he could do it himself.

"What are you doing out of bed?" He asks, genuinely curious and a bit concerned. Has Rhodey not been sleeping? Is he in too much pain to get some rest, and has Tony been too selfish and caught up in his own drama to notice? He feels a pang of guilt as the thought crosses his mind.

Rhodey hesitates for only a moment, but he uses the time to wheel around the desk to face Tony. "Friday told me something was wrong, so I came to check on you." He glances at the broken glass and amber liquid scattered across the floor, then back to his friend, "Everything alright?"

Tony wants to tell him no, he's not alright, not at all. But he can't, because Rhodey doesn't need that right now, doesn't need more problems weighing down on his shoulders; he has enough to think about without having to babysit Tony.

"Yeah, peachy, actually. You know," he racks his brain for a topic to shift the attention away from his mental stability, "you could have just called. You didn't have to slip into your speed racer and come all the way up here."

His friend snorts at that, shaking his head as he observes the wheelchair, "It's hardly a speed racer, Tones. And you're changing the subject."

"It could be a speed racer. Give me one night and you could be as fast as one, faster even."

"Tony."

"No really, this is great- your racing name could be The Rhodester- get it? Because Rhodes is your name; it's perfect-"

"Tony!" Rhodey lays a hand on his shoulder, and Tony reluctantly bites his tongue.

He's doing everything he can to avoid looking at his friend. Rhodey is giving him _the look_ \- because he _knows_ and he shouldn't have to deal with problems like Tony, god damn it.

So he slips on a smile; it's fake, Rhodey can tell. It's his media smile, and it never reaches his eyes, but Jim doesn't need to see him like this. So Tony gives him a reassuring pat on his own shoulder, and a short nod.

"Honey bear, I know you can slip into Mamma bear at times, but I assure you, I am fine. Go get some rest, you have physiotherapy tomorrow, and you can bet your ass I'm going to be there. I don't need to be dealing with you when you're all sour: wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

That gets a chuckle out of him, and that's good- Tony can work with that. He knows that Rhodey knows something is up, but he won't push for now.

Jim gives him one last, long hard look, one that makes Tony feel like he can see inside his head, and then ruffles his hair. Tony grins- a genuine grin, for the first time since this whole mess started- and tries batting his hands away.

Eventually, Rhodey takes pity on him and starts wheeling towards the door, but before he leaves he glances at the broken glass again, then back to Tony."Get some sleep, Tones. You look like shit," he says, his lips curling into a teasing yet concerned smirk, and Tony has to smirk back.

And then he's gone, and Tony is alone, at least for the night.

Right?


	2. Chapter 2: Rhodey

Hello~ **Today it is raining. I don't know if it's raining wherever you are, but if so, here is chapter 2 to hopefully brighten your day. Or not.**

 **It depends on how you look at it.**

 **Thanks for reading, and please comment your thoughts! :)**

 **XxX**

James Rhodes is not an idiot; he was smart enough to be accepted into MIT, and he's sure as hell smart enough to recognize the telltale signs that his best friend is falling apart.

When he left Tony's office, he lingered in the hall for a few minutes, just in case Tony decided to start throwing things again. He was relieved to find that his friend hadn't actually drunk any of the scotch- he would have smelled of alcohol- but it was still concerning to find the bottle smashed to pieces, clearly thrown in a fit of anger.

Tony had quit drinking after he joined the Avengers, save for the occasional champagne or beer when they were celebrating, and even then he limited himself to only two. Rhodey would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid that Tony would start drinking again after they left, so it was comforting to learn that he was at least trying to stay sober.

However, alcohol isn't the only thing he's worried about. The man has been running himself ragged since the team left, trying to clean up their mess, and taking all of the heat in doing so. The day before, Tony had come to pick him up from the hospital and had been rambling on about the designs for leg braces he had been working on.

And what do you know? There was already a prototype made for him to test out when they got back to the compound, not just designs. Tony had insisted he try them on right away so he could work out the bugs and start making a new pair. There was no doubt in Rhodey's mind that Tony would work nonstop until they worked above and beyond his expectations, and while he would love to be able to walk normally again, he doesn't want it at the cost of his best friend.

What Tony really needs is sleep, and he told him that, but the genius's face had fallen in an instant and Rhodey immediately felt bad. He knew deep down that this was the only way Tony knows how to cope; he's an engineer, fixing things is what he does best. So for him to try and deny him that... he just couldn't. So he put them on, for Tony's benefit as much as his own.

They worked better than he had expected, but of course Tony had interrogated him on every detail so he could fix them later. He fell once or twice, and while Tony looked guilty each time, his determination grew as well. Then Tony had gotten that package, Rhodey had joked about him being referred to as 'Tony Stank,' and then they had been done for the day.

Tony still never told him what was in the package, but, again, he's not stupid; he has a pretty good idea of who it's from, considering his best friend's been more troubled ever since it arrived.

He can't help but notice that a troubled Tony Stark seems to be a common recurrence when it comes to said person.

But while he's itching to confirm his suspicions, he respects Tony's privacy, and he wouldn't even dream of going behind his back and looking for it anyway; especially not after everything that's happened. He wants Tony to know that no matter what happens, he'll always have his back. Even when the whole world is against him, Tony needs to understand that he can _trust Rhodey_ , even if there's no one else.

He made that promise to a scared and confused 15 year old boy, who was far too young to be so far from home, and far too young to feel so alone in the world. Granted, MIT isn't actually _that_ far from the Stark Mansion in New York, but genius or not, he was too young.

He shakes himself out of his inner monologue and listens for a moment longer to the lack of sound behind the closed door. When he's satisfied that the genius isn't about to hurt himself, he nods and starts wheeling away from the office, knowing that if something was wrong, Friday would notify him.

He's just about to enter the elevator when she does.

"Rhodes, Boss is in trouble- there are intruders and it seems my defense mechanisms are down."

If Rhodey didn't know any better he'd say the AI sounded troubled and upset at not being able to assist her creator, but he doesn't say it because the only thing on his mind now is _Tony_.

He turns his chair around with impressive speed and starts frantically wheeling back to the office. As he gets closer, he can hear sounds of struggle and the occasional crash. The noises only succeed in making him move faster.

"Friday, alert Vision- _now!"_

"It appears that Vision is currently not in the compound," she responds, voice tinged with regret as she adds, "Whereabouts unknown."

He growls in frustration but doesn't make a comment, just continues wheeling for the door. What could a synthetic android _possibly_ be doing? The guy doesn't even need sleep, for crying out loud!

"Tony!" He yells out, finally reaching the door. He quickly wrangles free the Glock pistol strapped to the side of the wheelchair- safety purposes, Tony's idea- and opens the door as quick as he can.

The first thing he sees is his genius- knocked out cold and hands cuffed behind his back- thrown over a man's shoulder, who's making his way out the window and down a ladder. There are 4 other men in the room, each covered head to toe in black, and heavily armed.

This is bad.

He shoots the closest one in the knee cap without a moment's hesitation. He falls to the ground with a pained shout, and the others turn to look directly at him. He raises his gun again, but they were already reaching for it; they disarm him in seconds, grab him by the arm and throw him to the ground.

This could be a problem.

Okay, make that a big fucking problem, because he can't move and he can't see Tony anymore, and they're moving his wheelchair out of the room and closing the door.

They walk past him, grabbing the man he shot in the knee cap and making their way towards the window. They barely spare him a second glance, save for one who kicks him in the ribs, quickly followed by a kick to the side of the head.

His vision swims, and he knows it hurts and he wants to pass out, but he needs to get to Tony.

He shakes his head, straining to focus as they file out of the window one by one, leaving him feeling completely and utterly helpless. Briefly, his mind flickers to that day in Afghanistan, when they had taken his best friend right out from under him, and how useless and ashamed he had felt that Tony had to break _himself_ out. He can't let that happen again. _He can't._

 _"TONES!"_ He yells, not that it matters. His friend is out cold, and he's stuck here on the floor, surrounded by shards of broken glass and a few drops of blood that he sincerely hopes isn't from Tony. He can yell all he wants, but he can't move; there's nothing he can do.

 _Useless_.

The last thing he hears is the sound of engines rumbling in the distance as the men make their escape, before unconsciousness takes him by the throat and pulls him under into a pool of inky black.

Tony Stark is gone.


	3. Chapter 3: Natasha

**Hello~ Sorry I've gone for a bit. I went on a vacation with my family and I may have been nerding out about the new Star Trek movie . Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please feel free to comment your thoughts!**

* * *

Something wasn't right.

It's hard to explain exactly how she knows this, she just _does_.

The front of the compound looks relatively normal; it's devoid of people, sure, but it looks the same otherwise.

Nothing that would indicate there was a problem, yet, she has this _feeling_. It's unsettling, and it sits at the pit of her stomach. Though of course, you'd never know it by just looking at her.

She sidles up to the side of the building, gun already removed from her thigh holster and held at the ready. Cautiously, she types in her access code.

The door opens without a moment's hesitation.

It should feel too easy, but she's too caught up in the spark of hope that's brought from knowing that Tony kept the doors open to her. Even after she betrayed his trust, he still made sure she had a place in the world.

For some reason, it makes her feel worse.

"Agent Romanoff!" Friday calls out, sounding relieved, if a bit hesitant, as if she's unsure of Natasha's intentions.

"Friday? What's wrong?" Though she's sure the AI would have warned her if she were in any immediate danger, she can't help but let her eyes scan the lobby. She may have been granted access, but old habits die hard.

"They took the Boss man! And Colonel Rhodes… he's upstairs, in Boss' office. Please hurry."

She wants to ask who 'they' is, but she's never heard Friday's voice reach such an urgent tone. She can get her answers later; she read between the lines enough to know that Tony is gone, and Rhodey needs her help. Quickly she makes her way to the already open elevator, gun still up and ready.

The doors shut behind her, and the lift rises with what she's sure is more speed than usual. Nonetheless, she finds herself tapping her foot impatiently as she watches the floor numbers change.

When they open again, she rushes out and starts making her way to Tony's office. So far, nothing looks particularly out of place, except that there's a wheelchair just outside the office door.

' _An_ _ **empty**_ _wheelchair,'_ her mind supplies.

She connects the dots with lightning speed, throwing open the door without a moment's hesitation.

"Oh my god. Rhodes," she gasps, an uncommon thing for someone as masked as she. She's at his side in an instant, mindful of his legs and the trail of broken glass scattering the floor.

"Rhodes," she says again, returning her gun to its' holster and pulling his head into her lap, gently tapping at his cheek. When he doesn't respond, she checks his pulse, but finds it relatively normal.

She taps a bit harder until the man groans, blinking his eyes open, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

There's a bruise on his temple that extends just far enough to reach his cheek, along with a bit of dry blood, but not much else.

"N'tasha?" He slurs, blinking a few more times for good measure.

"Yeah, Jim, it's me. What happened here?" She looks frantically around the room, briefly scanning her surroundings as quickly and efficiently as she knows how. The window overlooking the back of the compound is shattered, along with what she can only assume was a bottle of scotch. There are papers scattered over the ground, things she remembers being on Tony's shelves knocked to the ground, and is that… _Cap's shield_ up there? That certainly raises a few questions, but right now she has more important things to worry about.

Like the fact that Tony is truly nowhere to be seen.

She allows for one last glance around the room before turning back to the Colonel, "Where's Tony?"

That seems to snap him out of whatever confused state he's in, because the moment she says it, his eyes go wide and he's sitting up. He winces when he does, his right hand flying to his side.

' _Possible bruised ribs,'_ She decides as she reaches a hand out to steady him. He's breathing heavily and muttering to himself, looking hopelessly around the room.

"No no no no no, Tony… oh god, Tony," He gasps and her heart break in two at the scene. She moves around him so they're face to face, only to reveal dark brown eyes that are full of fear and… guilt? "They took him."

Again with the 'they,' she thinks, but she doesn't ask just yet. In fact, she can't bring herself to ask, not when her heart seems to be sinking a million miles per hour.

"C'mon," she breathes, pushing her thoughts to the side for now, "Let's get you off the floor, okay?"

He nods quickly, swallowing hard while she moves into the hallway to grab his wheelchair. She sets it beside him and puts on the brake, then moves herself back behind him.

"I'm going to lift on three, okay?" He nods, and she slips her arms under his, "One… two… _three_ ," she grunts as she pulls him off the ground, supporting his weight with her own before she gently sets him in his chair.

 **xXx**

Ten minutes later, they're sat in the living room; Rhodey with a cup of tea while Natasha patches him up.

"So," she begins as she dabs at the minor cut on his cheek with a clean cloth, "What happened?"

He winces when the cloth makes contact with the wound, but ignores it for the most part. She figures he has more important things to worry about, like finding his best friend- one of _her_ best friends, too, whether he believes it or not.

"I don't know much more than you," Rhodes states, trying his best not to meet her eyes.

"Alright," she sighs, sticking a butterfly bandage to his face before moving to sit on the couch in front of him. She folds her hands in her lap as she studies him, except this time it's clear he's studying her right back. His glare is cold and calculating, and his hands seem to be itching for some kind of weapon to defend himself if need be.

"You don't trust me," she says, simply.

It's a statement.

He scoffs, "Got that right."

"It's fine," she nods, because it's true. "I wouldn't trust me either."

"Right," he nods back, and somehow the anger in his eyes increases ten-fold, "Well, that doesn't mean much coming from you. You don't trust anyone."

"That's not necessarily true. I trust you. I even trust Tony, believe it or not."

"Maybe you should rethink that list of yours, because if you don't tell me why you're here and where you've been, you're going to start trusting me a lot less."

She actually allows herself to half-heartedly chuckle at that, because she believes him. "See, that wasn't a bluff. I trust that you meant that."

He narrows his eyes, "Is this some kind of joke? Answer the damn question!"

"I disappeared. Tony warned me- that Ross was coming for me- so I left. Like I was never even there." She swallows and tucks her hair behind her ear, "You know, that's kind of why I trust him. The truth hurts, and yeah, he may come across as an asshole most of the time, but it's only because he cares."

Rhodey sighs, running a hand over his face, but he seems to relax a little.

"So… what? You think he warned you about Ross for a reason? Because as much as I hate to say it… he trusts you too, for whatever reason." He seemed a bit hesitant about admitting that at first, but that's fine. It's a start, and she'll take anything she get at this point.

She allows for the slightest grin at that, knowing that the trust is a mutual thing between Tony and herself, especially given the way they met. "I think Tony knows more than he's letting on, because- let's face it- he doesn't trust the government. Not with his suits, and definitely not with our lives."

"But he _does_ believe in accountability," Rhodey points out.

"That's true, but we both know he already had plans to amend the accords. They aren't perfect, and all of us know that. He could have fixed them, I trust him with that completely, and it all probably would have worked out fine."

"...Unless you're Ross. Tony hates that guy- and we all know what happened with Bruce," he adds.

"Exactly," she nods, ignoring the part about Bruce for the time being, "He wants control over us, he wants power. But Tony knows that the only way he can change anything is from the inside..." She pauses, trying to put herself in the billionaire's shoes, "So... he works _with_ Ross, but he needs our signatures, so now he needs to drag us into it- he doesn't have a choice. But maybe during that time, before all of this even, he finds something he wasn't supposed to."

"Right," he agrees, "So what does Ross know that Tony couldn't tell anyone about without risking our safety?"

She worries at her bottom lip for a moment, doing her best to recall the events of this past week, but nothing comes to mind that would answer that particular question. She sighs, running a hand through her hair in frustration.

"I guess we'll find out."


End file.
